


Eye Of The Storm

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Trip and Malcolm do some weather-watching.  Sort of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Standard disclaimers and confessions.  
>  In my head it's sometime in Season 2, but the distinct lack of spoilers means it'll fit wherever takes your fancy.

He would never know what disturbed him: the unfamiliar coolness of unregulated air against his forehead as he turned on the pillow perhaps, or maybe the faint flex of the mattress returning to shape after somebody's stealthy movement. Trip simply knew something had slipped into his unconscious mind, gently coaxing him up toward a dopey state of semi-awareness. Instinctively his sleep-softened muscles pulled themselves through a contented stretch, his body automatically seeking the reassuring warmth of its mate.

When his open palm splayed out on crisp linen sheet instead of warm satin skin consciousness charged toward him like a rogue asteroid and he flinched, screwing his closed eyes against its blow. "Mal?"

"Ssshh love, I'm here." Too far away for complete comfort, the soft English-accented voice still brought a dreamy smile to Tucker's face. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Didya?" His buttocks burrowing deeper into their oversized bed Trip gave his eyelids an experimental waggle, childishly pleased to feel the faint shimmer of response before a crackle of light flared behind them. "Wass'at?"

"Lightning." He caught the faintest of swishing sounds, air rippled by slight movement across the room. "There's a monumental storm going on out there."

The last few Floridian brain cells were pulled kicking and screaming from sleep. "Oh, yeah. We stayed the night, right?"

"The Jantan government wouldn't hear of us taking off this ridiculous little speck of land in the dark. Honestly love, how much of that ghastly sugar spirit did you drink?"

"'pparently not enough to knock me out." He snuggled deeper under the covers, fighting off the prickle of interest climbing his spine at his boyfriend's sudden fascination with a storm way out at sea. "Come back to bed, babe. 'm getting cold here."

"I'm not your personal hot water bottle, Commander."

He was probably aiming for piqued, Trip mused, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he pictured his lover in that instant. He'd be leaned against the window frame, head cocked, maybe with his arms crossed, giving the bed that down-the-nose superior stare of his. And his eyes - grey and wild as the storm itself - would be dancing with the naughty grin his lips were too well-trained to show.

_Damn!_

Now he had to roll over and open his eyes, just to see he was right.

 _Almost_ , he congratulated himself, the minimal effort rewarded like he hadn't dared hope. In his eagerness to observe the lightning way out over the ocean covering four-fifths of Jantan's surface, Lieutenant Reed had omitted to put on any clothes.

Another blue-white bolt ripped across the starless sky and for a split second Malcolm's slight, compact form stood out in spectacular high-definition before darkness reclaimed the room, leaving a shadowy outline in just the pose Trip had expected. "Hell of a place to put the only city, right on the edge of these cliffs," the Brit observed, conversational as if they were facing each other over their usual corner table in the mess hall: in uniform, every hair in place, two senior officers sharing coffee instead of lovers naked and alone. "I've not heard any thunder, but just _look_ at that rain!"

"Can't you see it just as well from bed?" Yes, the sight of Malcolm naked had shaken every last synapse into action. Getting back to sleep anytime soon wasn't going to happen.

Parts south, already showing definite signs of interest in the glorious nude across the room, started to holler their enthusiasm at the realisation and guided by them Trip gave up, switching on the small bedside lamp before shucking off his covers and padding across to join his lover. Malcolm turned back to his contemplations, resting his broad brow against the glass. 

Water sluiced in sheets across their windowpane, blurring their reflections as Trip wrapped his arms around the smaller man's waist, his chin coming down on a surprisingly brawny shoulder. The cliffs where the sole humanoid community on the watery planet had built their capital dropped steeply away beneath the guest building allocated to Enterprise's away team, plunging into a dark pit broken only by the creamy whitecaps of giant waves crashing into their base. 

In his head he knew there were a billion cubic metres of ocean stretching beyond his limited human range of vision but in the dark, with the distant lightning strikes flashing moments of clarity like the flickering of an antique movie reel, Trip could believe he was suspended over eternity with nothing but the hard, satin-sheathed barrier of his boyfriend between him and an endless fall.

"One helluva storm," he breathed into the Englishma's dark hair. Malcolm shifted, every muscle palpably softening as he leaned back into Trip's protective embrace. 

Well, Tucker corrected himself. _Almost_ every muscle.

He let one hand wander aimlessly, its easy slide across Reed's contracting abdominal muscles bringing the same hazy smile to the lips of both reflections. Harsh light wrenched the sky, bringing the image into sharp relief before the sheeting rain drove it away. "Increase lighting ten percent."

"That's not going to make much difference."

The single lamp's bronze glow wavered, rivulets of light trickling beyond the small bedside puddle to lick around their feet and calves. "Don't need it to, darlin'," Trip rumbled, directing his answer to the sleepy grey eyes glinting out of the glass at him. He inhaled deeply, letting his wandering hand dip southward while his gaze fixed on their blurry images, seeing the jump of Reed's reflected cock against the first brush of a fingertip. Lightning tore the inky sky once more.

"Look at us, Malcolm." Their reflections wavered and for a moment he was tempted to raise the illumination level some more. The flat of his hand smoothed up the solid length of his partner's powerful cock and both men moaned as it pulsed in welcome. "See how gorgeous we are."

"Oh, yes." His focus on the larger, darker figure behind his own Reed sagged backward, his legs weakened by all the blood in his body surging toward Tucker's skilled hand. His head lolled back onto the blond's shoulder, half-lidded eyes fixed on the intriguing contrast between his own pallor and the other man's undimmed golden tan. A lock of fair hair tumbled over Trip's forehead as he tilted his head, attaching his mouth to the sensitive side of Malcolm's neck.

"Watch us," he mouthed, the command a wet caress that seeped through the brunet's delicate skin. Reed's head tipped further, exposing more tingling flesh to his hungry kiss and Tucker snatched the offered advantage, teething his way down toward the collarbone to brand his territory without causing pain. Malcolm's hips had begun to rock in a gentle undulation that stimulated all the right places, sending warm tendrils of sensation up through Trip's belly. His sigh shuddered through both men.

Every flare of icy rage across the sky brought the erotic scene in the glass into thrilling focus, the fade to muted gold and black adding an aura of mystery to the encounter a world away from their often frenzied post-shift couplings. Usually vocal in pleasure - surprisingly so in such a reticent man - Malcolm emitted no more than a breathy sigh to greet Trip's first delicate probe between his buttocks, his demand silently expressed in the twitch of his anal muscles around the digit's tip. "Please," he whispered grinding onto the ticklish sensation around his hole.

"Mmm-hmm." The bed was nearby, big, soft and inviting, but it didn't offer the sexiest viewscreen in the galaxy. Trip watched enraptured as his big hand moved easily over Malcolm's body, half an eye on the younger man's uninhibited response, reflecting hazy at the edges. _Lube. Need lube. Now._

As if his thought had transferred through contact Malcolm spun in his loose hold, his mouth pressing hot and wet, burning Trip's flesh on its trail down from broad, furry chest over defined abs and on to slide around the proof of his partner's desire. Fire lanced up through the Southerner's guts as every throbbing inch of him was licked, each heavy sac being drawn in turn deep into a skilful mouth before the chilly sting of night air prickled over the wet flesh, adding its own subtle stab of stimulation. 

Then his dick disappeared completely into the velvet cavern and it was all he could do to claw the windowpane. His hand shook on the catch that released the small upper window before he thrust it out, bitingly cold raindrops filling his cupped palm in a moment, the droplets' sting against his extremity magnified by the heat broiling through his core. He gulped in the bitter night air, fighting off the urge to pump hard into Malcolm's slurping mouth. 

"'Nough darlin'," he grated, using his dry hand to tug helplessly at his partner's rumpled hair. Graceful as a dancer Reed slithered to his feet, sharing Tucker's taste with its originator in a languorous kiss. "Bed?"

"Here." By standing on the small window surround, Malcolm judged, the angle would be perfect. Smoothly he turned 180 degrees and stepped up, forearms braced against the glass as he presented his alabaster ass for his man's delectation. 

Trip wasn't surprised to see himself drooling.

Still, their preparation had been limited and as he let the contents of his left hand gush into the younger man's cleft he forced a cartoon squeak past the baseball lodged in his throat. "Don't wanna hurt y'..."

Squirming against the cool rush around his most secret place Malcolm dropped his burning forehead against the glass, its heat blooming there into an instant patch of slippery condensation. "Just go slow," he whimpered, excitement sparking up from the first scratch of a nail against his small hole. The harsh coughing sound as his lover spat liberally over his own hand, lubricating each probing finger with laborious care, caused a sharp twinge of lust deep in his groin. "But - oh, not too slow."

"Bein' difficult, huh?" Dropping his chin onto the brunet's shoulder Trip worked his index finger past the firm anal muscles, his strokes slow and steady until he felt the satin inner skin quiver, Malcolm's receptive passage relaxing with every new touch. Small huffs of breath steamed the window: dimly annoyed by the effect on his view, Reed dragged his head back to flop against the muscled wall of the Southerner's body, his half-closed eyes fixed on their rain-drenched images. A second finger slipped inside, accompanied by a brief burning sensation that made him hiss. Instantly, its movement stilled.

"Alright?" Trip didn't need a verbal reply; the small smile that shimmered on his boyfriend's mirrored features gave the answer even before the muscles around his hand began to melt. He spat into his cupped hand again, applying a second skin of saliva to his painful cock, helpless to mute a gasp at even the most pragmatic touch. Malcolm Reed's perfect body glistened before his goggling eyes, every line enhanced by the lightning's raw glare. 

The muscles around his hand were completely relaxed; soft sobs breached the fragile barrier of Reed's pouting lips. Shaking with the effort of going slow Tucker eased forward, butting his blunt head against the younger man's slick entrance, keeping his gaze on the glass. Malcolm was biting his lips, stormy eyes intent on their undulating images as a large hand wrapped around the base of his cock. "Oh!"

"Beautiful."

Nature's fury illuminated the marginal tensing through his lover's length as Trip breached the final barrier and he stilled, using his unoccupied hand to sweep soothing strokes across Malcolm's chest while playing the man's genitals like a maestro. Standing here, he discovered with delight, he could enjoy the effect he was creating in every small gasp and smile that twisted his boyfriend's puckered lips.

Writhing against every touch, his head rolling on Trip's shoulder, the Brit untensed each muscle in turn, seeing the small starts of pleasure in his own blurry face at a range of millimetres. The splitting sensation, the fire of almost-dry penetration, began to recede, leaving just the fullness; the glorious spreading heat of Trip's body moving in an ancient push-pull rhythm deep inside his own. Soft as sun-warmed chocolate Malcolm melted around his partner, lost to the swirling eddies of sensation that sloshed through him. Keeping one eye on the ghostly shades in the glass was getting harder.

Trip's thumb fluttered across his weeping slit as lightning scoured their vision. The sight of himself convulsing in delight alone almost pushed him to the brink.

Then the fist around him began to pump in earnest, matching the urgency of the thrusts from behind. A cooling sheen of rain blown in through the narrow upper window struck his brow, dissolving into the film of sweat that drenched him. When the sky was wrenched again, he could have sworn there was steam rising around their join.

His orgasm came on like a thunderclap.

His eyes flew open, connecting with the wanton image in the glass: features slack and twisted, mouth wide open in a silent scream of bliss, he bucked and twisted his way through sensation's stormy sea. His focus narrowed until all he could see was the awestruck face over his heaving shoulder, Trip's candid expression of wonder joined with the spurting heat of seed into his bowels to prolong his climax until the lightning ripped inside his head and, as it dissipated, his universe faded to black.

"Oh, baby." His voice merged with the drumming of the rain Trip nuzzled the crook of his partner's neck as they sagged against the plate window's chilly support. Flaccid muscles clamped around his softened member. "Ow!"

"Hate being called that," Malcolm mumbled, rubbing his overheated brow against the glass. "Mmm, don't move."

"Gotta." His legs were weakening and he was struck by a sudden, painful recognition of the night's chill. Though he staggered slightly Trip contrived to slip from his boyfriend's cloying hold, his penis flopping limp against Malcolm's backside while he snuggled up behind the smaller man. When the lightning lit the room again it was accompanied by a deep, distant rumble that seemed to roll around inside his spinning skull. "Storm's getting closer."

"It was right here a moment again." The insides of his thighs tickled with the seepage of his lover's come and his sweat-drenched frontside slipped against a windowpane slick with condensation. Malcolm was dimly aware he ought to be feeling thoroughly uncomfortable.

But his arsehole still burned with that special ache and every other sinewy muscle was as lax as the strings of an antique wooden tennis racquet. Thunder growled, distinct this time, across the ocean and Trip stirred, the hand not still cradling Malcolm's flaccid cock weaving tenderly through his hair, lightly tugging the damp strands. "Lemme take you to bed now, darlin'. We can watch it coming in from there."

"Lovely." He ground his buttocks against his partner as Trip shuffled them backward to the large circular bed, toppling back onto a pile of pillows with Malcolm's smaller body held between his thighs. 

As he killed the lights Reed dragged a heavy down comforter up to his shoulders, reclining against Tucker's broad chest. Strong arms wound around him and his head fell back, his eyes half-closing against the violence of lightning's forked glare. In silence, content just to be together, the lovers watched the storm roll in until daybreak.


End file.
